


Apostate

by Anglo_Salad



Category: Original Work
Genre: Lesbians maybe but not sure, artistic use of run-on sentences, but hope is here too, i dunno i might have been high, none of these characters have actual names, so i have listed them by title, there's something dark here, way too many metaphors, what is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:39:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglo_Salad/pseuds/Anglo_Salad
Summary: "Remember, I loved you once?"A letter to the dead.
Relationships: Beloved/She, She/I, She/Purple Past





	Apostate

Beloved,

We were immortal once, remember?

The year was 2014, and my hair was purple, and the pastors had spent the last fifteen years of our lives reminding us that, if we did it right, we would live forever.

(Maybe it was faith in God, maybe just youth, but for whatever reason, we believed them.)

It was a cool Fall, and every breath felt like the future, like everything we wanted was on our doorstep, all we had to do was let it in.

We found ourselves both Child and Adult, we kissed strangers in the dark and waltzed under stage lights, we stood in sagging circles smoking stolen cigarettes, fell into well-rehearsed rows with all the sweet stiffness of starched uniforms. We were Men and Kings and Gods and Nonbelievers, so very alive.

Danger could only bring us joy. We partied amongst tombstones, sped midnight Main Streets in our parent’s cars, drank until the room stunk of our vomited secrets. Death became a joke with someone else’s punchline.

Then the first of us fell. (Picture that moment: the way she dropped out of the air, the way we all shattered.) They said she was dead before she hit the ground. They called that mercy.

Shock pressed our backs into stained sofas, and we stood to swear our loyalty to the sound of buckled seatbelts.

Before long, we set off running again, now followed by the specter of Death.

Time has passed since then, and so have several of us.

So too have you, another life toppled like a domino tower, left behind your survivors in these uncertain futures.

We met yesterday, three of us, scarred wrists and poisoned blood and half-dead organs, with only talk therapy left in common, huddled around the table I pulled from your bedroom. We sipped scalding coffee as if blistered tongues and burnt throats could justify our silence.

Before long, the lone man among us stood, kidneys whispering pale yellow defeat even as his stance shouted of the navy blue uniform hanging in his closet.

He walked away, without a word, and I pretended not to notice the way her eyes began to water.

(You told me, once, that it was impossible not to love her, patchwork hearts sewn into her sleeves, thoughts inscribed into her skin in that script that swirls and flows so beautifully, and I refused to believe you.)

When she grasped my hand like a long-lost memory, I felt nearly knocked from my pedestal by the honesty dripping from her gaze, the quiver of rosebud lips.

“Remember,” she began, as if she feared I wouldn’t, “I loved you once?”

Deep inside my chest, something, purple-haired and powerful, shouted in affirmation, reminding me of comfort, of fingers in copper curls.

I knew I could cough it away.

“I couldn’t forget that.”

Everything about her was soft, especially her nod.

“You tried.”

We sat in silence after that, hands wrapped around our mugs, and I stared up at your patron-saint picture until I could find my words.

“Things were different. We were immortal then.”

She smiled so softly, and I felt myself falling all over again, as if I could still land at her feet after all this time.

“That never meant we couldn’t die.”

You know, you always told me she was the smart one.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all I'm not even sure what this is. I woke up and sat down and wrote it one night?


End file.
